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There's a story at the tips of your fingers, where the paint has dried upon your skin, where the ridges of each printed flesh is filled with golden yellow hues. Tell me, beautiful girl, have you found the strength to paint your own sun?

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #6 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

I guess I should have known . . . You're not a forever kind of story.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #7 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

Tell me, does it break your heart to know that if you had stayed, you wouldn't be alone now - that you'd have a woman who loves you enough not to leave you for someone else?

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #8 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

You’re a liar … but it’s my fault for believing you.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #9 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

As I stood by the edge of the cliff, as the sea crushed against the rocks below, as the waters turned darker more, as the air and the wind bellowed across the shore, I heard the voice of the world calling me - telling me to let my pain go. And so I shout as loudly as I can, the source of all my grief and pain. A single word. A single story. A single end. Your name.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #11 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

I held on to dust, hoping beyond hope that somehow the world will bring together each speck and make me whole again.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #12 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you could love me back?

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #13 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

She loved you the way Sorrow loved Death.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #14 Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

I was in love with the idea, not the man. And in the end, ideas stay with us longer than any man ever could.

My Heart Bleeds Poetry #39

Charlene Pablo ( via @inevitable-realities )

Grieving has its stages. This is the first: denial.

Katrina, my dear:

The heart is a unique creature.

It has a mind if its own.

I cannot simply demand of it to stay put when it wants to chase butterflies (or ghosts of them for that matter).

One day,

When you have the time, the resources and the courage;

Tell me you do not have any regard, at all, for me and for the future we had once planned.

By then, perhaps, perhaps this heart could falter and stop its vain attempts of being reciprocated.

But until then—

Until then

Let me be someone who still wants a space in your life even when you needlessly hit her with your arrows and bar her out of your life.

Maybe, just maybe,

I find it hard to believe that someone who claims to have loved me as deep will drown in shallow waters.

Thus, this hope in embers refuses to die.

Meet me in the same plane,

Outside the comfort of that room you have built where I do not exist.

Meet me without your inhibitions,

Just as you are, as I have known and loved;

Meet me in the same plane

And I’ll gladly accept defeat.

But until then,

Until then allow me to bruise

(No, that is an understatement)

Allow me to crush my ego

Beneath your unyielding walls.

Allow me to chase my last shot of happiness with you.

Allow me to make you remember.

Allow me to apologize for my mistakes.

As grieving comes in stages, there’s always room for a slip-up. Back to four.

Splintering lightning   The hailing of a storm Like the beads slipping Down the frigid bottle Slipping I am slipping in my resolve To stop wishing You show up at random places Stop wishing It’s your name I find beneath an empty bottle Stop wishing It’s your hand I hold After thirteen more

With you the long queues are shorter,The coffeeshops are warmer and the whole week is as refreshing as the weekends.

-Reema Tabra

She looks with an eye of a child,she is eagerly observing the world around her.She enjoys the view,because the eye of a child sees without judgments.She offers the same excitement to her favorite song every time it's played.She offers the same attention to the repeated advice.She accepts the world and embraces contrast.She is as free as a child.

-Reema Tabra

Im an introvert by choice. I’ve lived a life where i’ve been there for everyone i’ve known,I’ve always been the life of the party,and I’ve always been the positive one. And im proud for whom i’ve been. Yet i’ve grown to realize that Our time and emotions are our batteries of creation and achieving. And i found myself consumed by the amount of attention i offer to others. Every Time i offered a deep conversation and a helping hand,I saw people grow back to be the same person they were before that. Some People want a short term relief,They will follow you as long as they are experiencing discomfort. The moment you offer what they crave,they will go back to their circles of people and track of life. I’ve grown to believe that i can offer help,yet i can’t let my energy be consumed by everyone around me. I still offer the same things to the same people. Yet i offer from a place of wisdom,intelligence and knowledge,rather than offering from a place of love and attachments. Today i’m a flowing positive energy because i choose to do so,Not because the world around me wants me to be a hero of some kind. I am a generous soul to everyone. yet when it comes to emotions and attachments,I have to admit i’m very guarded and very demanding. I’m also very tangled to the ones i trust and love,And that’s how me and my loved ones survived the years. Because i have an open door,To these whom are in,And a closed door to those whom are out. I’m enough,that’s how i love some,Yet i help everyone.

Reema Tabra

Your storm have made my leaves dance to wrap itself around your breeze, for a warm embrace.

-Reema Tabra

In silence,hand in hand we will watch life fall apart. Then with full enthusiasm we will build it back up. We will pick them up ,brick by brick yet we will place them up to a new form and on a new ground. This time our ground is constant,And if ever an earthquake rush in,In silence and with love we will survive it,Again.

Reema Tabra

There is always an edge or an end to everything,yet still i can't comprehend that there is one for my love to you.

-Reema Tabra

We can never number the paintings in the world,nor the poems nor the symphonies. We can never number the types of love nor the ways we express it. And this fact never troubled me,yet it amazed me. Cause we are all a puzzle solved by a missing piece,and it fits perfectly and matches insanely with the rest of who we are. And sometimes it differs and it doesn't matches at first,then two souls have to flip their pieces or soften their edges to have a meaningful picture,and this effort might not be what life is about ,yet it's definitely is what love is all about.

Reema Tabra